


And I Darken

by Vyranai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Arlathan, Elvhen gods are not fluffy bunnies, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Post Game, Romance, Time Travel Fix-It, Young Fen'Harel, but before Tresspasser, of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:16:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8415202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyranai/pseuds/Vyranai
Summary: "You have traveled in time before. You know that this is possible. This is very real, and they are taking you to see the Dread Wolf himself."The last thing Morvena Lavellan expected was waking up in ancient Arlathan itself and becoming the teacher of a brand-new God.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe that I am posting a Dragon Age fic. But yep, I am. For the longest time I've been writing down this story in notebooks, little ideas of Fen'Harel's beginnings all smushed together. This is it all polished up. There will be romance and humor. Yay! And angst. Because Solas is the God of Angst. Updates should be nice and regular, so uh, hope you enjoy this little plotbunny of mine! (And my first DA fic, eep!)

The last thing she remembers is the sickly green of the Fade, the pain exploding through the mark on her palm, wild and agonizing. She was burning. Blazing like a rage demon.

And then there is fresh, damp grass beneath her, tickling her nose. The dew upon her lips is tinged with a magic as electrifying as lyrium. She coughs and feels it wet her lips, jolting her with an unexpected strength and soothing her aching limbs. Another sip of dew and she heaves herself onto her back, staring up at the glorious red dawn painting the vast sky.

Dawn. Evidently she has lost hours. Slowly, as though trudging through deep mud, a memory resurfaces and Morvena catches it before it flees; darkness shot through with emerald. The keening screams of … She can’t remember who is the one screaming.

Morvena is alone. Wherever she is.

Harsh cries meet her ears now, followed by the resounding _bang_ of a door. The voices shout something as Morvena scrambles to her feet in alarm, hand outstretched and ready to fight, but she doesn’t understand what they say. But the language seems familiar. It feels familiar, too. Unfamiliar guards bearing spears surround her, their voices still nothing to her. _I will fall over if they start to push me around,_ Morvena thinks, panicked. She is in no condition to fight whoever these guards are. Then she spies the faces of the men surrounding her and has to look twice, taken aback; their faces bear Vallaslin.

Elves! They are her own people, tall and proud in golden armor she does not recognize. In fact, she does not recognize the pattern of their vivid red blood writing either. More ancient elves like Abelas? But what are they doing here? Where _is_ she? Morvena turns her attention to the walls surrounding her, temporarily oblivious to the spears pointed at her.

Towering above her is the honeyed stone of a temple. Each wall is lavishly decorated with art, murals and precious gems, far from falling into ruination. Morvena’s breath is stolen from her throat at the sheer beauty of the place. Which God does this temple belong to? And whose Vallaslin do the sentinels bear? So many questions and she knows that her tongue will not be able to ask them. Not unless they speak Common. Morvena twists around and stares up at the statue casting its shadow over her and finds the answers to her unasked questions.

A wolf statue of enormous size and hewn from black stone stares directly ahead, regal with his ears raised and stance upon his haunches attentive. _This is a temple of Fen’Harel,_ Morvena realizes, numbness spreading through her. A temple dedicated to the Dread Wolf himself still exists! She wishes that Solas was with her to enjoy such a find. But then she remembers that Solas is gone and she has not seen him for nearly a year now. Not even in the Fade. Morvena stares into the eyes of the Dread Wolf – all six ruby-red ones – and feels her heart catch. 

Her joy is matched by her horror when she understands that the guards’ Vallaslin is the Wolf’s. He truly has a Vallaslin! No Dalish would have taken it, but Morvena forces herself to remember that Fen’Harel is innocent, painted by history as the monster that devoured children and stole away dreams in favor of nightmares. Maybe, if she can communicate with the guards, they will impart their knowledge upon her. Tell her the truth of what really happened all those fateful years ago. No matter how terrible the truth may be.

Emboldened by her thoughts and discovery, Morvena attempts to converse with the ancient sentinels with her broken speech. At the sound of her words, they all tense up; Morvena watches two guards glance at each other, bewilderment clear in their marked faces. Her heart sinks; they cannot understand her at all. “Morvena Lavellan,” she says carefully, pointing to herself.

Without warning, a sentinel dives forward and grasps Morvena’s chin in a tight grip, peering into her painfully bear face. Once, the arrows of Andruil had sat there, trailing down her body like roses on a trellis and framing her hips. But no more. She didn’t regret it, only what had happened just minutes after.

The sentinel grabs her marked hand and wrenches it up high, showing the others his discovery; they all share the same startled expression and the spears rise even higher. _They recognize it_ , Morvena realises. _They know this magic._ There is no use in running, for she will not escape. Even so, where can she run to? Morvena still has no idea just where she is. And how she got there in the first place.

To her amazement, the sentinels begin to bicker among themselves, evidently arguing about what to do. Eventually, one lowers his spear and turns to the wolf statue, a look of utter disgust upon his face. Morvena watches as he bows low to the hulking great beast and speaks in Elvhen. She does not understand much, but one phrase she does understand: Fen’Harel’s blessing.

At his words, the eyes of the statue shine a eerie red like fresh blood for a few moments, then fades away into nothing. Morvena waits with baited breath for something to happen, but the statue remains immobile.

Someone pushes her hard in the small of her back and barks something that evidently means _move._ Morvena obeys and allows them to shepherd her across the grass and down a stone passageway framed with arches. Above her, the sun begins to rise, signalling the start of a brand-new day.

 

Familiarity prickles at Morvena’s skin as she’s lead through the endless corridors and vast rooms. The warm, golden stone is unfamiliar, yet not. Even the colossal stained-glass windows nag at her. _Remember,_ they seem to say. When they step out of the vast hall with its many wolf statues and motifs into the fresh morning air and Morvena finally spies the rest of the temple, she almost falls to her knees.

Skyhold. But it is not the Skyhold she knows; the training area, the tower where Cullen resides is gone, the courtyard itself, it is all covered with lush emerald grass instead of stone. The building that is the tavern, Herald’s Rest, is missing, instead replaced with a towering structure instead, made of the same yellow stones as the rest of the temple. Bright red flowers completely envelope one side of the tower.

Morvena feels tears slide down her face at the beauty displayed. _But if this is Skyhold…_ The question that comes to mind is: _when_ is she? More time displacement, maybe? It doesn’t make any sense. Morvena’s mind is a maelstrom of theories, but not one sticks.

Panic overtakes her now and her feet cease their movement. _No._ Morvena stares down at her palm, almost willing the mark to tell her what to do, inform her as to what has happened. But of course, it says nothing. It tingles gently at her gaze, relaxed almost where usually it is wild and untameable.

The guards watch her tears carefully, then usher her down the stairs, Morvena still within their uniformed circle. Where is she bound for? _Could they be taking me to Fen’Harel himself if I am truly that far back in the past somehow?_ Bile rises in Morvena’s throat and she stops dead, hiccuping a little in her panic. No. He cannot be here. It’s simply not possible.

 _Is it not?_ Morvena’s thoughts tell her nastily. _You have traveled in time before. You know that this is possible. This is very real, and they are taking you to see the Dread Wolf himself._

“No!” Morvena thrusts her hands out, shoving herself away from the sentinels. “This is not possible!” She slips through their scrabbling hands and makes for the gate, blind with panic. This is not her world. It is so very far from her world, and she most decidedly does not belong in it.

A sentinel catches her arm and she snarls, twisting around and catching the man in the knee with a sickening crack; a cry of alarm and he stumbles, allowing Morvena the chance to wriggle herself free. Around her, the other sentinels hold back. Morvena vaguely wonders why, but then the blast of magic hits her square between the shoulders.

Before she crumples, the tips of the Frostback mountains are just visible over the high walls. They, at least, have scarce changed.

 

 

Morvena wakes up behind bars. Not bars of metal, but woven from trees. Each cage is fashioned out of ironbark, and unless she is mistaken, they have been grown in such a way. But where normal ironbark is nothing but a crafting material, Morvena notes that this ancient version has the power to sap at her energy, keeping her docile. It is hard to flee when you have no strength, after all.

Even locked away in the depths of ancient Skyhold, Morvena still learns much; the first night she falls asleep, she finds herself in the Fade. Numerous spirits flock to her, drawn in by her emotions and unfamiliar feel. They all ask the same question: What is it? A Curiosity spirit is the first to ask, Morvena amazed at the fact she can understand the spirit. She hesitantly tells the yellow form that she is an elf, but it doesn’t seem quite so sure. As soon as it had arrived, it is gone again. Much to Morvena’s relief. Magic did not run in her blood.

A Courage spirit finds her in her cell during the second day. Morvena at first blanches at the golden young man stood before her, afraid that the light is a demon in disguise. But it doesn’t harm her, instead settling down at her side and simply offering her company. After getting over her initial fear, Morvena tentatively talks to it, answering its curious questions.

“A soul of fire,” Courage tells her solemnly the next day. “You have seen much. War, death and destruction. The mires of chaos. Not once did you waver, even when all seemed lost. What a warrior you are and will be. In this time and your one before.”

“How can I understand you?” Morvena whispers, wide-eyed. “This is not my time. I could not understand the sentinels.”

The spirit inclines his head. “I am the Courage of Fen’Harel. His bravery and his valor. Your actions speak louder than words. Actions translate more than some feeble tongue.”

Morvena frowns. “I do not understand. You are… the Dread Wolf’s Courage?” Does that mean that the man, the God, is especially brave? Nothing makes sense and Courage doesn’t deign to try and explain it to her.

“Keep that courage, little one. It will serve you well when you meet with Fen’Harel,” Courage tells her softly, brushing Morvena gently with his golden light; she feels warmth, _strength_ flow through her at his touch. “Be strong.”

 Courage’s words and revitalizing energy leaves Morvena feeling positive and alert. Surely they cannot leave her in here forever? And if she found a way here, into the far flung past, there has to be a way back. She is sure of it. When the guard returns to give her food, she grins at him, emboldened with courage. He blinks twice at her and hurries away, unnerved by her blazing spirit.

 

In all, Morvena estimates that they keep her locked up in her ironbark cage for just over a week. And in that week, she has come to terms with an impossible idea: that Skyhold is the dwelling of the Dread Wolf. Had Solas known while leading her, leading them all to the ruins of the fortress in the snowy mountains? It startles her to think that she has slept in the same building, maybe the same room as the Wolf.

Even Courage’s boost cannot assuage her fears of standing before Fen’Harel, of clapping eyes upon the Gods of old themselves. A Dalish fairytale come to life. _Or nightmare,_ a dark voice whispers at the back of her mind. The Gods are not benevolent, Morvena remembers with a small shiver. Maybe Mythal, but Elgar’nan? Falon’Din? Even her beloved Andruil? She doesn’t believe them to be kind. History has to get one thing right, after all.

When the time comes to leave the cage, Courage’s spark is gone completely, leaving her hollow and empty. Morvena is to become the first of the People to clap eyes upon an Elvhen God in millennia. It makes her feel like another round with the darkspawn magister would be kinder to her frayed nerves.

Morvena makes no attempt to escape as she is led through the painfully familiar corridors of Skyhold, marveling at the beauty studding the walls. The fortress of her time is nothing but a shadow of its former, glorious self. A deformed shape in the darkness that housed them in their time of need.

They end up outside the door leading up to her old bedroom above the hall. Morvena glances around as the sentinels leave her stood there, their job done. What can she do against a God, Morvena figures: he is the boot and she is the ant beneath it. The lax security suddenly makes sense. A glance tells her that only two guards stand in the hall itself, and only one more outside.

To be so sure of one’s power… it floors Morvena.

She knocks twice, just to be sure. To be polite. Interrupting the Dread Wolf doesn’t seem like such a good idea. A pause and the door swings open, inviting her in. _Not creepy at all,_ Morvena thinks, stepping inside and closing it behind her. She ascends the stairs, but not too quickly to appear eager. Now she is here, fascination overcomes the raw fear.

What will the Wolf look like? Young? Old? Tall and regal, of course. Morvena knows his beast form, but his elf one has eluded history. Morvena cannot believe her foolish, youthful excitement. Death is a real, tangible possibility, but she doesn’t care, drunk on the joy of clapping eyes upon one of her Gods. As she reaches the top of the stairs and passes through another door, her heart hammers in her chest so hard she can scarce breathe.

The room is beautiful, of course. Frescoes adorn the walls, bright and cheerful. Every piece is evidently the work of a master artist. _What a shame they are to be lost to time._ It saddens Morvena to think about. But a moment later she finds too much happiness in the discovery that the Wolf keeps his desk in the same spot she does, though he owns many more bookshelves than she, and they are all completely full to the brim with leather-bound books. The fireplace crackles cheerfully, the orange flames tinged with emerald. It reminds Morvena of the mark on her hand, the green of the Fade and Rifts that tore apart Thedas.  She clenches her hand as the mark tingles, so much more active now in the past. That, at least, makes sense to Morvena; ancient magic reacting with yet more ancient magic.

A soft laugh pulls her from her scanning of the Dread Wolf’s office. She hesitantly walks up the remaining steps and onto the golden stone beneath her feet. The doors to the balcony are thrown wide, shadows of figures stood beyond them just visible.

Taking a deep breath, Morvena went to meet the Dread Wolf.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morvena meets the Dread Wolf. And receives a nasty shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, folks! Enjoy the next chapter. And thank you for all the kudos! Eeek! Now, let's go meet puppy Fen'Harel.

 

Fen’Harel is tall, just like Morvena is expecting. His posture is one she has seen numerous times, held by Orlesian court and speaking of nobility and importance. The God wears golden robes patterned with leaves in a shade darker, close fitting and reaching his knees. Beneath, he wears black. Silk, Morvena guesses. Only the finest, of course. Like her own feet, they are bare, but Fen’Harel wears leg wraps, also in black. He talks in a low voice with a spirit coloured a soft cornflower blue and Morvena’s heart drops when she realizes that he wears a half-mask of white canine bone that only leaves his mouth uncovered. With those long, dark dreads spilling down his back like a waterfall, Morvena guesses that he must be very handsome beneath the mask.

Distracted by her disappointment, she doesn’t notice the silence that has fallen, the two pairs of eyes fixed solely upon her. He is staring at her, Morvena notes. Staring so intently that she feels naked beneath his piercing gaze. The spirit beside him takes a step closer to the God and whispers something in his ear; Fen’Harel nods, gaze still fixed upon the woman lost in time.

Morvena jolts as he barks something in Elvhen at her, but she doesn’t understand. Her hopes that he can understand her like Courage fade away. “I cannot understand you,” she tells him glumly, hurriedly adding “My Lord.” Is that the correct title to address him by? Angering him really doesn’t seem like such a good idea at an introduction. And she is still a little bit superstitious, unable to let go of her Dalish roots just yet.

Maybe the sprit at his side can understand her, for it speaks to Fen’Harel again, more urgently this time. He snaps something back, mouth twisted into a disgruntled line. Morvena has no time to react, to move away as the God stalks closer and pounces; she squeals in surprise as his mouth crushes against her own, tongue slipping past her lips and invading her. Without thought, she bites down hard and draws blood.

Fen’Harel draws back instantly. “You bit me!” he exclaims indignantly, raising a hand to his bloodied lip. “You little savage!”

Morvena punches him too for good measure, knocking the mask from his face. God or no God, she refuses to be touched in such a disgusting, demeaning way. The mask is crunched beneath bare feet as he stumbles back, thoroughly stunned. “How else was I to share my dialect?!” he demands with a growl, face bowed to the floor.

The spirit floats closer. “Dear friend, I could have translated. Would it have not been more prudent to ask for permission before performing such a personal act upon her?” Morvena almost laughs at how exasperated the spirit sounds. Her knuckles twinge with pain; Fen’Harel’s face is far from soft.

Fen’Harel sighs like a scolded child and glares up at the spirit. “Do not impart your wisdom upon me today. I am in no mood for it.” He pauses, and then whines out like a petulant child, “What if my lip does not heal? What if my face remains _scarred_?”

“Oh Pride…” the spirit tuts, evidently unamused. “Since when was kissing an effective way to translate? You have been spending too much time with Desire. She clouds your thoughts and causes your actions to become rash. You are only young, and-”

“Wisdom, silence, I beg you.”

Morvena merely stares, numbness beginning to spread through her. That voice… she can now understand it. And she knows it. Intimately so. When Fen’Harel raises his face to her, brow furrowed into a deep scowl, her whole world shatters.

The expression transforms into a frown when she reels backwards, away from him. Confusion colours his features. Though much younger, it is him, Morvena is certain. She clasps her trembling hands behind her back. “I apologise for hitting you, My Lord,” she whispers, unable to make eye contact. She’s not certain if she’s even _allowed_ to make eye contact. Has he always been so very tall and imposing? Morvena is dwarfed by his height when he steps closer until they are stood face to face, but noticeably out of range of her fists.

“Show me your hand,” he demands, the command of a God. Without hesitation, Morvena holds it out for him to look at. She knows which one he means; there’s only one hand infected with ancient magic. Even his touch is the same; hesitant yet firm. His fingers are still long and thin, but less lined. The hands of a scholar and not a warrior who swings a sword or pulls a bow taut.

“Thief,” the Wolf whispers, fingers encircling her wrist like a manacle. “I know this magic, and it is _mine._ How is it inside of _you?_ ”

Morvena almost weeps at the sight of Solas, the Dread Wolf, look at her with so much undiluted disgust. It breaks her already fractured heart. “I am no thief, Dread Wolf,” she barely whispers. “It was an accident.”

He smirks. The grin of a predator right before it snaps its hapless prey’s neck. “An accident? Purely by chance you… steal my power? I think not.”

Morvena holds her tongue; to tell him the veiled truth or not? That she is of the future and this is her very far past? She cannot speak, she realizes. No matter what he does to her. No matter how he tortures her. Unless…

“I am of the future,” Morvena breathes softly. “The very far future. In it, I happened upon your power. I will tell you nothing else, Dread Wolf. I would sooner cut out my tongue than destroy my own world by telling you more.”

Fen’Harel stares for a long moment, expression blank. Morvena panics, thinking that he may just kill her outright for her audacity. But then he starts laughing. Wild, untamed laughter that she does not recognise. Solas and Fen’Harel are two completely different people, Morvena understands. Two sides of the same coin. This is the Wolf in his prime. His most dangerous.

“Such a clever, fanciful tale!” he chuckles, eyes glinting darkly. “I have not heard this one before. You are to be commended for that.” He wrenches her closer by her wrist, teeth bared in a feral snarl. “If, by some chance, that is true, why are you here and not in your odd future?”

“I don’t know,” Morvena replies honestly, feeling her wrist come close to snapping.

Fen’Harel stares down at her with distaste clear in his blue-grey eyes. “And I was summoned from Arlathan for _this?_ Some poor attempt at a trick? Who sent you? Andruil?” he spits the last name as if acid.

“I am telling the truth,” Morvena pleads, fighting back her tears. Solas is… he is… a liar first and foremost. A filthy fucking liar. “I… is this your usual form?” she has to ask. Has to. The truth is too much to comprehend.

“Yes, but do not change the subject, little thief and liar. Did Andruil send you?” he demands.

“I am telling the truth,” Morvena repeats, but barely hears herself. If this is his usual form… then… it’s true. Solas is Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. Her old lover is the Wolf himself.

 _I have kissed the Dread Wolf!_ Morvena thinks, a bubble of laughter escaping her. She blushes; she has also...

“Why do you laugh? Do you think this is some game?” Fen’Harel demands, shaking her hard. “You are unmarked, bearing my magic and speak a dialect that I have never spoke! You gave my guards quite the little turn.” He leans closer until their noses very nearly touch. “So curious… what _are_ you, odd little creature? Did June create you? Do you even have a name? You seem to possess _some_ intelligence.”

“Morvena Lavellan,” she tells him. There is no harm in telling him her name, after all.

He rolls the name off his tongue. Morvena is disturbed by how sensual he makes it sound. “I like that. It suits your beauty,” he next to purrs, making Morvena’s knees feel weak. Oh Gods… that voice. Even now it does things to her.

Wisdom clears her throat loudly. “You are easily distracted. I suggest turning your mind back to her incredible claim. She is not of this time, that much is evident. Even you must see.”

A flash of annoyance flits across his face. “It is not possible. There is no proof of her… fantasy. None at all. And I refuse to believe it true.”

She can barely make the words pass her lips. “Your name is Solas. Before. Now… both, maybe.”

Fen’Harel looks at her, and truly _sees._ Morvena doesn’t move as his hand brushes away the fiery red hair from her eyes. It is a movement that Solas often performed. Before he left, anyway. Morvena recalls the nights they spent curled up together beneath thick furs, pressed so close they could be one. He always touched her – her hair, her face – when he thought her asleep. She never was.

Wisdom speaks again. Morvena wonders if this spirit is the one from the future, Solas’ dear friend that he was too late to save. She feels sad if that is the case. “Patience, Pride. We will seek Truth and-”

“Yes,” Fen’Harel interrupts abruptly, letting Morvena go and wringing his hands distractedly. “Bring Truth. She will end this once and for all.”

A pause and Wisdom vanishes. The Dread Wolf cocks his head and once more reaches for her, but Morvena slaps his hand away. “I would prefer it if you didn’t touch me, Wolf.” He is curious like a child, unable to stop himself from touching her. It unnerves Morvena.

“Why not?” he challenges, a wide and devious smile appearing upon his handsome face. “Do you not find me appealing?”

She does. Oh she does, but she doesn’t tell him that. “All I can think is that your mother named you well, Pride.”

He frowns, politely bewildered. “My mother? I’ve-”

_“I have brought Truth. Let us resolve this peacefully, and learn more in the process.”_

Truth is not one colour, but many. She undulates towards Morvena as if riding on the wind and gives her a strange smile made of rainbows. She is very pretty, Morvena supposes. Her female form is stunning, just multicoloured and opaque. “Will you allow me to discover the truth to your words? To separate the light from the dark?”

Morvena takes a steadying breath. “Yes.”

Truth is warm when she envelopes Morvena in her glittering light, but goes as cold as a snap during the dead of winter once inside her. Morvena feels her sift through her very being, the Inquisition and memories of Solas both intimate and not. _You must not tell him anything,_ Truth whispers, soft as a breeze. _You must not let him know of his future. And –_ Truth pauses, alarmed. _There is a spirit attached to you. I cannot… see it. It cannot manifest properly._

 _A spirit inside of her? Cole, maybe?_ “Is it of Compassion?” she hopes. To have Cole here would be a comfort.

 _No,_ Truth tells her. _Something else. I cannot make it out. There is no malevolence to it._ A pause. _Good luck, little wanderer._ Morvena shivers as Truth withdraws from her. What a horrible feeling. Like being doused in freezing lake water.

“Well?” Fen’Harel demands, impatiently tapping his foot. “Tell me the truth.”

“She speaks the truth,” the rainbow tells him serenely, smiling at Morvena. “She is an agent of truth.”

The Dread Wolf pales. “Impossible.”

Wisdom merely smiles fondly at Morvena, glowing a bright sapphire. “You must always keep your mind open to such astounding magic, dear friend. You yourself have wielded magic most claimed impossible.”

“Because I am exceptional in my abilities,” Fen’Harel proclaims, a smug smile upon his lips. Morvena almost laughs; what a prideful young beast he once was. How he had changed.

“You seek to become Wisdom, yet know nothing of humility.” Wisdom twists in disapproval. “So young…”

Fen’Harel shoots her a disgruntled look, but then it is gone as his attention switches back to Morvena. A future elf. “You do not belong here after all,” he announces in a strange voice.

“No. I do not.” She offers him nothing else.

“And you still claim that you will tell me nothing?” he presses.

“No.”

Fen’Harel grunts, put out. “I shall not press you then, child of the future. Time is not to be trifled with.”

“Oh!” Wisdom claps her hands happily. “That was the smartest choice you have made in years!”

Truth giggles, turning a shocking pink. “Wisdom is not wrong, Pride.”

Morvena watches in amazement as the God blushes a deep crimson that spreads to the very tips of his long and slender ears. “You both exist to torture me,” he mutters in clear embarrassment, flicking a dread off his shoulder. “Leave, both of you. I give you my word that I will do nothing foolish in your absences.”

“Ah!” Truth explodes with laughter. “That tickles!”

“Away!” The Dread Wolf waves a hand and they both fade away, Truth still laughing raucously. Morvena remains silent, awed by how very friendly the spirits seem. How is such a thing possible? She recalls that Solas once tried to open her mind to talking with spirits, but remembers gently refusing him, afraid of coming across a more violent one. Did demons borne of twisted emotions exist here, or are they something else completely? Where are Truth and Wisdom now? So many questions to ask and the man stood before her now holds all the answers. She meets his gaze and he holds it easily, challenge in his eyes.

A grin slashes his face and he spreads his arms wide. “Then I welcome you, child of the future, to my domain. And here you will remain until I devise a way back to your time.”

“Do you think it is possible?” Morvena has to ask.

The God waves a hand, apparently unconcerned. “I will discover a way somehow. Or June will. You don’t plan on causing trouble, do you?” he peers at her keenly. “Not that I’d turn my nose up at such a thing. Immortality can grow dreadfully tiresome, do you not think?”

“No. I did not intend on causing trouble.” Immortality! He is immortal. _Of course he is,_ Morvena chastises herself. _Fool._

“Shame. I’d welcome it.”

Morvena scowls. What a child he is. “Yes, the world at your fingertips. The People subject to your whims and your powers. It must be so very boring to have such control.” She winces at her own hostile words. They simply slip out without her consent.

But it does not anger Fen’Harel. He merely steps back, as curious as a child once more. “You know me, don’t you? In your strange and distant future. You speak to me without addressing me by my given title and show little respect. Like an insolent animal. Or you know _of_ me,” he adds, suddenly thoughtful. “I imagine that I am exceptionally powerful in your future. I must be a full member of the Pantheon by now, a throne of my own in Arlathan.”

 _This_ is the Dread Wolf? A young man who reminds Morvena of the boys in her clan when they went through puberty, making passes at any female nearby. Upstarts who show off their skills. Or lack of. How does this…boy turn into the quiet, thoughtful man of the future? Morvena recalls Wisdom’s words about the Wolf seeking a better understanding, wisdom of his own. _Maybe he does indeed succeed one day,_ Morvena guesses. _Pride giving way to something more._

“You are a puppy, Fen’Harel,” Morvena says slowly, still not quite over the shock of who she talks to. “A prideful little puppy scrounging for attention, and you shall not have it from me.”

He broke my heart. _He will break my heart,_ Morvena corrects herself, anger seeping into her blood. This is the man that _lied_ to her. Left her after taking her Vallaslin, her soul and love. One day, he will leave her alone with no explanation. Leave her to assume the worst and fight back tears, only shedding them at night when alone. How dare he? _How dare he._

She expects him to scowl this time, to threaten her for wounding his huge pride, but he does nothing of the sort. Instead, he snorts loudly. “You speak like the All-Mother! Forever she calls me puppy since I am apparently disobedient.” Fen’Harel crosses the room to the desk in two strides of his long legs and opens a small compartment, drawing out something. A simple sylvanwood ring appears in Morvena’s palm. “Dread Wolf’s blessings. While you wear this, no guard will touch you or stop you without my permission. Take up residence wherever you wish, it is of no concern to me, but do not leave the fortress. If you do, I shall know.”

He says the last words as a warning, Morvena notes. The Dread Wolf is not as foolish as he looks.


End file.
